The Interview
I won’t go into details. There is no reason for you to know the particulars of how I fell into David Ontario’s power. It is enough to say that what David learned about my past behavior was extremely damaging. If brought to the attention of the law my punishment would have been swift and unmerciful and of some duration - and justly so. It’s also important to note, here at the beginning, that had I been publicly exposed many innocent people would have suffered with me. However, in all honesty, my succumbing to David’s blackmail had nothing to do with protecting the innocent. I believe then and now that I thought only of myself.
What I will tell you about my past is that I considered myself a revolutionary once. But I slowly came to realize that the problem with revolutionaries is that most are destroyers rather than creators. The person who builds pipe bombs is unlikely to be able to plan sewer systems, or in other words, to replace what was destroyed with something beneficial. Even in those violent, angry days, I was a creator, an artist, and gradually my revolutionary zeal deserted me and I began to court the good opinion of people who I had once despised. The rich and powerful were first my enemies, then my unlikely supporters, and finally, in the form of David Ontario, my masters.
The first interview I had with David Ontario was held at his seaside house perched on the rocky cliffs high above the Atlantic Ocean. That evening the light had a blue quality as the sun struggled to assert itself at the tail end of a rain shower. In spite of my anxiety about the coming interview I paused and let the light move me for a moment, let my lungs fill with the moist ocean air, and let the rain wet my upturned face. In retrospect I realize that this was the last moment that I was completely free.
I rang the doorbell and he kept me waiting for several long minutes. David was clearly sure that I would not leave, and indeed given the nature of the information in his summons to me, I would have stayed in front of that door all night if necessary. Now that I know his penchant for cameras, I wonder if he watched me wait? Watching as I attempted to smooth the water from my hair, adjust my hose, and clutch my raincoat more tightly to my neck?
When he finally opened the door David was polite as he invited me into his living room, lit by a few small lamps and a fire. He took my raincoat, and shook off the water over a small woolen rug in the foyer. He left me for a moment and when he returned he offered me a towel to dry my wet hair. I was agitated while I went through these motions, extremely nervous at finally being in his presence at last, the presence of the one who knows.
He offered me red wine and though I seldom drink I took the glass and had to fight the impulse to gulp down the liquid. David sat down across from me and invited me to sit. We made small talk for some time, discussing mutual acquaintances, the summer concert series at a local arboretum, and places that he’d traveled that I was also familiar with. Finally we discussed what he knew of my past activities, the reason for my being in his house in the first place.
I acknowledged everything at once, indeed it was almost a relief that someone else knew, and that matters had been taken out of my hands. I wiped the tears the away from my face and went to stand in front of the large windows that looked over the ocean. The waves crashed against the jagged rocks with enough force to send towers of water spurting into the air. I shivered, and thought rather dramatically, that if necessary those same rocks might offer me release.
“It isn’t so awful, Patrice,” David said, still seated on the couch, a wine glass in his hand. “I am the only one with this information, most likely the only person alive who would take the trouble to delve into your life, and certainly one of the few people with the resources to do so.”
I turned to face him noting how comfortable he looked, how sure of his power, as he had every reason to be. My life could be altered savagely on his whim.
“Why?” I asked. “Why go to the trouble?” And indeed I was puzzled. I was neither rich nor powerful, and had very little influence over others, nor was I seeking public office, nor even particularly beautiful.
“You know the answer, or you should,” he said. “Do you remember the night that we met?”
Of course I remembered. I remembered that in a room full of people at Ron and Pamela Clayton’s party, David Ontario, had somehow fixated on me. I’d known who he was, as did everyone in the room, and the knowledge made me slightly anxious, for his company Petrol-Tech had often been the target of my rage in the past. Seeing him in person made the old anger ignite, and I remembered the countless reports I’d read on this man, his promulgation of the civil war in Angola, the exportation of his oil refineries from the U.S. to countries where his workers were essentially slaves, those and many other abuses ran through my mind.
I smiled mockingly whenever a young woman introduced herself to him and then found an excuse to rub against him, to touch him. Unable to contain myself, I laughed openly at him several times. I drank too much, far too much, and the alcohol made me reckless and courageous.
Later that night I wandered out onto the dark beach and sat in the sand, watching the waves roll toward the shore. David approached me there and sat beside me. It was obvious that he’d followed me, as I’d walked some distance from the house.
It was equally obvious that he thought I had led him away to seduce him, and that somehow he had mistook my disdain for interest. Perhaps that is not so surprising, what I felt for him was a type of passion. With lovely women constantly seeking his attention, it is far from surprising that he would make such a mistake.
He sat down beside and talked about the ocean, and the currents, and how they were wearing away the beach, transforming and eroding it. After a short time he kissed me, but with an air of detachment, as if he were used to kissing pretty strangers. As if he was just being polite. I kissed him back with all the hatred and anger I felt for him. I tried to hurt him with the kiss, but he mistook my force for ardor.
The truth is that I was aroused, which angered me even more, and made feel justified in my actions. I unzipped his trousers and took out his cock, licking it, but not taking it into my mouth, licking it until it was rigid. I slid off my panties and straddled him, until his cock rubbed against my wet clitoris. Unbuttoning the top half of my dress I showed him my breasts in the moonlight.
Looking down at him I caressed my nipples and asked, “Aren’t they lovely?"
“Yes,” he groaned, reaching up for them.
I laughed, a cold hard laugh in the moonlight. “No, no, no. Not yet,” I whispered as I rubbed my wet pussy over his cock. “Do you feel how good that is? How warm and wet I am? How nice it would be to be inside of me?”
“Yes,” he said again, attempting to adjust my hips in order to penetrate me.
I stood abruptly and with such force that my thighs slid through his hands. I stepped over his body and said, “You can’t buy everything and you will never put any part of yourself in me.”
I gathered saliva in my mouth and I spat on his stunned face. Looking down at him as my spittle ran down his cheek towards his mouth, I stood frozen, seeing desire turn to confusion, and confusion, to rage. He grabbed my ankle and kicked out hard. He lost his grip on me and I flew into the night.
Running, I accidentally careened into a young Swedish model that I’d been speaking with earlier in the evening. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” I panted, and he, noting my half open dress, and high color, smiled and led me to the side of a boathouse.
Because I was listening for it I could David’s pursuit stop when he reached the edge of the circle of light that radiated from the Clayton’s home. I listened to him follow the young Swede and I stealthily, trying to quiet his breathing.
I could sense David watching us as the Swede pushed me up against the wall of the boathouse and fell to his knees, drawing one of my legs over his shoulder so that he could tongue me thoroughly. I knew that David stood somewhere in the darkness, watching me give everything that I had promised him, to that young stranger. Watching as the young man finally rose to his feet, undid his pants, and lifting me, fucked me against the wall. The boy pleasured me for a long, long time.
I don’t know why I behaved that way? Usually I am circumspect and polite and while I am not rich myself, I include many wealthy people among my acquaintance. Indeed as an artist I am forced to cultivate the rich. Nor had I ever been so blatantly sexual in public.
After that first night I saw David Ontario at parties fairly frequently. I always attempted to ignore him, but if we were in a group, he’d often force me into a social embrace, a social kiss, that I was too embarrassed to reject. Whenever I saw him, I continued to enjoy the thought that a man like David Ontario couldn’t have what I gave willingly and openly to that young stranger.
Drawn back into the present I answered in the affirmative: “Yes, I remember the night we met.”
“Do you remember letting that young man fuck you?” David smiled. “Did you like it? Did you like it when he fucked you? Did you like knowing that I was watching from the darkness?”
“I don’t have to answer these questions,” I said, furious and suddenly very afraid.
He continued to smile. “But Patrice, you do. You said that my money couldn’t buy everything, but of course what you meant was that my money couldn’t buy you. Perhaps that was an accurate statement, perhaps it wasn’t, but regardless it did buy information. Information about you.”
“So, let me tell you Patrice, about what happened to your young lover. The young man is back in Sweden now, working on his father’s fishing boat. Not long after the party the agency that was sponsoring the boy dropped his modeling contract, which revoked his visa. Unfortunately, no other agency was willing to pick him up.”
I stared at David, and a sense of dread spread through my body. That last bit of information was clearly shared in order that I know that he could be ruthless. But that was something I already knew. I closed my eyes and remembered the feel of that boy’s tongue between my legs. I didn’t even know his name.
David gave me a mocking salute and said simply, “So you see Patrice, our young Swedish friend got screwed very well that night, and in more ways than one.”
I knew that I should I leave David’s house. That I should tell him to go to hell or the authorities, that I should tell him to do his worst and be damned. But those words would not come.
I licked my lips. “What do you want?”
He stood and his eyes met mine and he held me that way as he spoke. “I want you, Patrice. I want the full use of your body: your mouth, your open thighs, your ass, and your breasts. I want you open and willing to be used in any way that I deem appropriate, at anytime I want, no matter how embarrassing or inconvenient, or even painful. I want you to open yourself to me or to whomever else I might want to see inside of you.”
I’m sure at that moment my face lost color, at least I felt faint, and clutched at a chair for support. “You want me to be your whore?”
He touched my face gently and kissed me tenderly on the lips. “You will certainly will be prostituted, yes, to myself, to whomever I choose, but whore is such an ugly word, and not really adequate to describe what you will be to me.”
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“Yes.”
